


The Paths Have Been Crossed

by unwindmyself



Series: you understand me more than most and you let me try [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon had moved to Seattle to work for his uncle, Ygritte had moved there on one of her whims, a chance meeting at the bar where she works leads to a predictably endearing and wholly awkward courtship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paths Have Been Crossed

“Last call,” Ygritte shouts, one hand making a megaphone around her mouth to better be heard over the (blessedly decent, at least) music.

A flurry of patrons swarms the bar, pushing forward to mutter one last drink order or pay up for the ones they’ve already downed; laughing, Ygritte passes the payers off to a grumbling Tormund, insisting they just like the way she mixes better.  “I can’t help it that you don’t make ‘em strong enough.”

“I’d go plenty strong if this lot didn’t all look so flimsy that a proper drink would knock them over,” he retorts, but he doesn’t really mind (the gruff thing is sort of an act for him).

Regardless, she’s mixing and pouring nonstop for a good seven minutes, passing drinks off left and right.  Nobody’s hanging around to pick up the _last_ last order, a nice clean harvest ale, so she checks the tab and pops over to the table to deliver it personally.

Its recipient would seem to be the scruffy, serious-looking boy at the corner table, and gods help him, he’s actually sitting there reading what looks to be an early edition of Tolkien while everyone else is finishing up whatever debauchery they came to pursue.

“That’s precious,” she tells him once she’s in earshot.

“Excuse me?” he replies, glancing up at her (and goodness if he doesn’t look just like a lost puppy).  What’s more interesting than that is his voice, surprisingly but not _too_ deep and comfortingly, familiarly British.  She hasn’t spoken with another Brit in months, it feels like.  (Not too surprising, Seattle’s not really a hot spot for UK expats, but still.)

“Precious,” she repeats, drawing out the syllables.  “Not many people come to the bar to sit back and read pseudo-medieval fantasy lit at nearly two in the morning.”

He makes a face (are bartender-waitresses supposed to insult the customers?  Is this an insult or is she just one of those girls who make observations sound snarky?  He’s never been good at telling).  “I’m waiting on friends,” he says, nodding to a group of guys currently surrounding the pool table.

“Not a pool player yourself?” she asks.

“Not usually,” he returns.  “I never got the point of it, really.”

“Gettin' it in the hole’s the point,” she shrugs.  “Guess it’s not as _meaningful_ as literature, though. I can’t decide if it’d be more or less cute if you’re reading for school or for fun.”

“Fun,” he says immediately, turning rather red once he realizes she said ‘cute’ (and maybe she didn’t mean it that way, he’s playing it cool).  “Is why I’m reading, I mean.  I’m done with school.”

“Oh, good,” she says sweetly, finally setting his drink on the table.  “Glad to hear.”

“Excuse me?” he repeats, making a face.

Ygritte shakes her head, chuckling.  “Enjoy that,” she says before heading back to the bar.

 

* * *

 

Three nights later, she notices the dark-haired boy at the same corner table.  He’s surrounded by friends – mostly other guys, though there’s a rabbit-looking girl cuddled up next to the chubbiest boy – and he looks _slightly_ less awkward than before.  Only slightly.

Tormund pours their drinks, but Ygritte grabs the tray from him before he has a chance to set out.  “Careful, girl,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she chirps, balancing the tray as she heads to the table.  She’s halfway  done handing the glasses out when she makes eye contact with the boy and offers a mock-offended, “Hello t’you too.”

“Oh!” he exclaims, like he only just noticed her presence.  “Yes, hi.”

“Has someone been making friends?” one of the others asks, too kind to be teasing wholly.

The dark-haired boy’s mouth drops open. 

Priceless.

“I don’t know, have they?” Ygritte coos.

Before he has a chance to respond, Tormund shouts, “You’ve got other things to do, Ygritte.”

She waggles her fingers and flits off; as she goes, she hears the girl at the table tell him, “Jon Snow, you’re horribly daft sometimes.”

 _Jon Snow._ That is adorable.

 

* * *

 

“Ygritte, he called you?” Jon asks.

They’ve run into each other at the Whole Foods down the way, fallen into predictably awkward conversation beside the fresh vegetables.

“Yeah,” she smirks, and even though she did, she adds, “I didn’t get yours.”

“Jon,” he replies.  “Uhm, Jon Snow.”

(It sounds even more adorable when he says it.)

“Charmed,” she replies, bobbing in a terrible fake curtsy. 

“It’s always funny,” he says suddenly, scratching the back of his neck, “The first time you see someone in the daytime that you’ve met at night.”

“What, did you think I was a vampire?” she teases.

“No, I – I mean, it’s just – different,” he stammers, going a bit pink. 

“Yeah, uh-huh,” she nods.  “Though I guess I have been known to bite.”

He’s full-on blushing now, uncontrollably it seems, and while he forces a smile, he’s suddenly staring avidly at the contents of his shopping basket.

“Gods, now I feel bad,” she sighs.  Contrary to what some might think, she is capable of that.  “Sometimes I forget strangers ain’t used to the way I tease.”

“I grew up in a house full of kids,” he offers.  “I should be better at handling jokes.  It’s just –”

Well, for one it’s that – and he couldn’t tell you why, exactly – he’s drawn to her.  A lot.  But he especially doesn’t know how to put that into words without sounding like a cliché.

“Nah,” she shrugs, flashing a toothy smile.  “Just lemme make it up to you.  Come by the bar tonight, whatever you want’s on the house.”

“Oh!” he exclaims, surprised and knowing he shouldn’t be.  “It’s – I’ll be there, then.”

Both of them are too excited about this prospect by far.


End file.
